Disturbing Events
by Crack Author
Summary: HPSS Slash. Harry has been having an odd dream. It disturbs him. It disgusts him. And dammit, it's about nasty sex with greasy, nasty Snape. But he hates Snape. Really he does.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: NO READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 17. WHY? BECAUSE IT HAS NASTY, NASTY WORDS AND SITUATIONS. OMG.**

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**Author:** Crack Author

**Title:** Disturbing Events Ch 1 of several.

**Ship:** HP/SS

**Disclaimer:** This is a fan fiction. By no means am I making any profit on this or taking ownership of her characters. JKR's got leashes and collars for them all.

**Summary:** HP/SS Harry has been having an odd dream. It disturbs him. It disgusts him. And dammit, it's about nasty sex with greasy, nasty Snape. But he hates Snape. Really he does. And this all leads to a series of really disturbing events that actually lead to... a climax. A bit crack-filled in the beginning, middle and end, but you may enjoy that.

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Harry, wearing his invisibility cloak, walked the length of the Hogwarts' dungeons pulling on his turgid member whilst thinking of buggering Snape into submission. Just the thought made the young Gryffindor glisten with sweat. He didn't want fame, glory and all the other shit that came with being Harry-bloody-Potter; he wanted sex. And not just any kind of sex. He wanted the nasty whips, chains, blood, screams and come-with-unbelievable-trajectory sex.

Harry was certain that the Slytherin Head of House could provide such a delectable service. After all, he was a death eater. He _must_ be into that sort of thing. Death eaters, Harry decided, have to be very, very nasty when it comes to sex. It just made sense. Well, at the time.

But it was just when he rounded a corner in the dungeons, so terribly close to his goal, that a red-haired boy by the name of Ron—or _Ronald_, as his not-so-bushy haired friend insisted to call him—would shake him awake from his dream, leaving him feeling extremely odd and a bit disgusted at himself.

True enough, it wasn't always Ron who did the waking. Sometimes it would be the howl of a painting in Grimmauld Place, a floo call from Hermione at the ministry or even worse Remus Lupin. Harry was sure that when Lupin woke him, he would know of the dream somehow, shift into a werewolf and swallow Harry whole. All because of his disgusting subconscious.

Why did he have these dreams anyway? It was a good thing, Harry thought to himself, that dream Harry's desires never came to fruition, reality Harry wasn't too keen on whips, chains, blood, screams and wasn't sure if come could squirt anywhere but his eye when he was in the shower let alone anywhere else—he feared wanking anywhere else. Also, he wasn't very keen on Snape either. Let alone some kind of crazy sado-masochism, bondage thing that he'd only ever heard of in magazines.

And anyway, why did it have to be Snape of all people? Why couldn't it be Ron, for instance? Sure, Harry had no sexual attraction to his best friend and Ron could indeed be a git some of the time—mostly to Hermione and not Harry—but he wasn't a great greasy git twenty-four hours a day, seven horrible days a week, now was he?

However a sexual fantasy about a friend could destroy a friendship and Harry was glad that wasn't a possibility in this case. Could a sexual fantasy involving a hated former professor destroy a hateful relationship? Harry realized that his logic was flawed in this department. Perhaps it was the effect of lack of sleep. Those dreams definitely weren't helping where a good night of shut-eye was concerned. Besides it wasn't a sexual fantasy. It was a dream—NO! A nightmare.

At the moment, Harry was yawning as he set himself to the task of cleaning dishes. It was a job he tolerated—tolerated being more on the borderline of _down-right detest_—since he was made to do the job everyday at the Dursley's. Thank Merlin he didn't have to stay with those muggles anymore. Well, "_bastards"_ was a more appropriate word, Harry decided. Wouldn't want to sully the good name of 'muggle'. There certainly were a great number of good muggles—Hermione's parents if he had to name some and if he hadn't met them he would be completely sold on the whole Death Eater theory. Well, in the category that the Dursley's deserved a good thrashing with some Unforgivables.

Harry mentally scratched that thought right out of his head. He wouldn't make a good Death Eater; he really didn't want to kill anyone (Snape really didn't count as a person). The Dursley's, how terrible they were to him and how terrible they continue to be in general, probably didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of Avada Kedavra. Probably.

"Hello?" A voice called from his entryway, causing him to drop the plate he was washing onto the floor. "Harry?"

He whirled around, nearly slipping on the broken pieces of the plate, but when he saw who it was he relaxed a bit and decided he'd better take a seat and clean the mess up later.

Propping his head up with the heels of his palms, Harry forced an awkward mumble out of his mouth. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

He listened to her footsteps echo as she walked on the hardwood floor and with each step he was sure he'd actually taken some of Fred and George's new 'Very Head A'Splode-y' potion instead of tea. What he really needed was a nap. Or perhaps some different dreams. One with a nice field. Perhaps with rainbows and a unicorn—a proper one, not a dead one like in first year. Sleep was definitely in order.

"That's no way to treat a friend." He finally looked up at her when she got close enough. Harry noted that her gaze went disapprovingly downward to the mess the plate had made and then sympathetically to his face. "You don't look very well."

"I'm fine," he said shortly while pushing himself up from his chair and after seeing the defeated look in her eyes he sighed and turned back to the dishes. "I just haven't been sleeping very well."

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OMG, what an odd way to end a chapter!Why the hell did I do that? More in the works. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Author:** Crack Author

**Title:** Disturbing Events Ch2 of several.

**Ship:** HP/SS

**Disclaimer:** This is a fan fiction. By no means am I making any profit on this or taking ownership of her characters. JKR's got leashes and collars for them all.

**Summary:** HP/SS Harry has been having an odd dream. It disturbs him. It disgusts him. And dammit, it's about nasty sex with greasy, nasty Snape. But he hates Snape. Really he does. And this all leads to a series of really disturbing events that actually lead to... a climax. A bit crack-filled in the beginning, middle and end, but you may enjoy that.

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Harry didn't understand his subconscious' obsession with his former professor, but he felt that Hermione would be better to talk to about it than Ron, that was for certain. Ron would probably go insane after hearing such a thing. Maybe it was best that he kept it to himself, though, there was no telling how his friends would react if they'd found out what his dreams had been up to. Was there anyone he could talk to?

He found himself adrift in his own thoughts, partially ignoring Hermione as she was speaking to him. Her voice was low, concerned, but he wasn't really paying attention. Snape, he thought with a distasteful tone to his inner voice. Snape, he thought again, drawing the name out a little, stretching the vowel ridiculously as if using the name to ask himself a question. Why Snape? But he had already asked himself this and didn't get anywhere.

"… if you're still having dreams about You-Know-Who after this long, and it's been four years, Harry, then perhaps you need to see someone."

Hermione laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and all Harry wanted to do was scream. He loved Hermione, really he did. She was such a good friend to him and always had been, but a simple squeeze on his shoulder did not kick the image of himself wanking to Snape out of his head. He needed a dreamless sleep potion.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, "Your plate is still on the floor."

"Yes," Harry breathed absently. He had no idea what she was talking about; he just knew he needed that potion. Harry leapt to his feet. "Dreamless sleep!" he shouted. "Do you know where I can get it?"

Hermione, suddenly confused by the change of subject was in mid-bend to pick up some of the broken pieces of plate, but she jerked upright, hitting her head on the counter.

"Ouch!" She dropped the pieces in her hand to the floor and rubbed the back of her head.

It couldn't have been much of a blow, thought Harry. Although her hair isn't as bushy as he remembered, still, all that hair should have cushioned the blow significantly.

"Sorry!" He blurted, quickly gathering a dish towel and stuffing it with ice cubes.

Harry thrust the make-shift ice-pack in her general direction and decided he needed to leave immediately. He knew just the person he needed to talk to and maybe she could help with finding out why he was having these dreams, or at least be able to offer him a –free- Dreamless Sleep potion. He left the room to make a quick floo call, leaving Hermione standing in the middle of the kitchen with a confused look on her face.

"Stay as long as you want." Harry said when he returned, quickly pulling a jumper over his head and grabbing his coat. It was chilly this time of year at Hogwarts', and he wasn't about to freeze his nads off.

"Where do you think you're going? And what's the matter with you!" Hermione didn't even seem to be speaking, really. It was a long string of almost shrieked words. "I have something important to tell you…"

"Can it wait, Hermione?" He asked exasperatedly, his shoulders slumping at the tone of her voice. "I have to see McGonnagall straight away."

"Well, I don't think that's a…" But Harry was already gone and could barely hear her voice as he walked outside. "… good idea right now."

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Harry hadn't seen Dumbledore's ghost, but as soon as he apparated just outside of Hogwarts' grounds he could feel his old headmaster's presence. Dumbledore didn't stay quiet for long; he was never a man one could silence. After the incident with Snape—which was much later explained at length by Headmistress McGonnagall—his ghost apparently appeared to the new Headmistress regularly. If it was Trelawny claiming to see Dumbledore, Harry would have said she was loony, but McGonnagall he was sure was telling the truth.

"Of course," she had said, "Dumbledore was a man with many secrets. I can tell you for certain that Severus Snape did not murder him out of choice; the two of them had made a pact."

"A pact!" Harry had screamed. "A PACT!"

It was difficult to believe then and even more difficult to believe now since Snape had disappeared along with the other death eaters that night. But that was the last Harry had seen of him. Snape wasn't at the battle, and until McGonnagall told him that his former potions master was alive, Harry believed that Voldemort had killed him before Harry got a chance.

When Harry asked about Proffessor Snape, all McGonnagall said was, "He is safe." He assumed that those words meant that he was well protected from both sides: aurors and remaining death eaters.

Then, after Harry had stopped screaming, she had told him more about the pact—telling him what he already knew—Dumbledore was already on his death bed that night. His headmaster wasn't begging for his death; he was commanding Snape to uphold his end of the agreement.

She refused to tell Harry why, saying that it wasn't her place to tell. Explaining that it really wasn't that clear to her, but she knew without a doubt that Snape could not be blamed. After all, after Harry ran off, foolishly chasing after death eaters, was it not Snape who protected the famous Harry Potter?

There were a lot of missing pieces, Harry thought as walked toward his former school. Shoving his icy fingers into his pockets and trying not to slip on the slick grass, he decided he would go to McGonnagall under the thin pretence—seeking a Dreamless Sleep potion—but afterward he would demand to know more of what had happened or at least the name of the one who could and would tell him.

She had been so confused when he flooed her.

"Why come to me, Mr. Potter, when you can go directly to an apocathery for what you seek?"

After which Harry had mumbled something incoherent about it being on fire for some reason and then something about a bad floo connection. He had abruptly cut her off after that and decided to go straight to Hogwarts', whether Hermione thought it was a good idea or not.


End file.
